Pygmalion
by Eilarran
Summary: A story of obsession, failure and triumph. A story of an artist. A story of Deidara. Oneshot.


**A.N - This is standalone oneshot story taking place before Deidara joined up with the Akatsuki.**

* * *

**Pygmalion**

* * *

Sunlight strode lazily along the skin of the golden haired boy sprawled on the grass. With one leg crossed over the other, Deidara watched the sky, eyes half closed. He was resting from his previous mission, and seeing as there were no further contracts offered for the moment, a brief intermission was felt appropriate.

Deidara's large inquisitive eyes scanned the clouds, moulding them into a myriad of shapes within his mind. He was lost in the endless possibilities his imagination could conjure, the plethora of it all amusing him like nothing else ever could. Art was his being, his purpose, his calling. The day his inspiration failed him would be the day he would see no meaning to prologue his life. He only existed to create.

The mouths on his palms twitched with impatience and Deidara felt that same rush of creative adrenaline which was better than air, sweeter than blood…The blonde stood up.

''Better get started then, hmm'' He smirked and plunged his hands into the leather pouches attached to his belt. The mouths jerked apart and devoured the clay hungrily as Deidara felt his chakra become infused with the medium. In an instant a thousand images assailed his mind and the young artist breathed them in with fervent pleasure until one was selected. At once the hands began their work, weaving their master's chakra, imprinted with the desired illustration, into the material.

Finally they released their creations into the world – two clay birds soaring through space.

Deidara watched them with a smile as their undulating paths intertwined continuously in consecutive elegant arcs. He felt joy building inside his heart, pride for his work, admiration of their beauty…

''Katsu!''

A shattering explosion shook the ground.

Remnants of clay shot out like bullets, disturbing the surrounding wildlife.

Deidara stood grinning, his eyes ablaze.

''Art is a bang''

* * *

The tea was left untouched on the table, long cold.

It was raining outside. The hum of water against wood soothed Deidara's nerves as he completed his last supply of clay. Now he could finally relax; he was prepared for any situation.

With a sigh of satisfaction the blonde reached for the tea cup and frowned when he found it frigid to his touch.

''Tch, figures'' He grumbled and got up to fetch a new one.

On his way to the kitchen he paused and stared out the window, a sudden stroke of inspiration binding his limbs like an iron hand. An image was coming together in his mind's eye like a puzzle made of smoke and mist, swiftly gaining in tangibility. Deidara stood rooted to the floor, an expression of awe spreading through his features in a wave of excitement.

The artist spun on his heel and headed back to his room. Grabbing the newly made clay pouch he thrust his palms eagerly inside and watched the mouths ingest the substance.

Withdrawing his hands form the bag, he concentrated on the image, gripped by the desperate fear of losing its delicate form. He felt his chakra mould the required shape from his mind, taking care not to lose focus of the desired outcome.

At last the mouths discharged the conclusive object which landed gracefully on the floor and stood motionless, awaiting its fate.

It was the figure of a woman.

Deidara held his breath and marvelled at the fruits of his labours. This was his finest work indeed. The curves were flawless, the features refined to perfection…And yet…there was something missing.

''Maybe it's the eyes, hmm'' The artist remarked, pacing around the figure and examining it critically, searching for a visible fault.

None was found.

This was beginning to irritate him. Something was absent but he didn't know what. He could not figure out what.

Grimacing like a child, Deidara plopped on a cushion and crossed his legs thoughtfully. He did everything right…the final product was the one he had earlier envisioned, so why did it feel so…incomplete?

Incomplete. Unfinished. Deficient.

Imperfect.

The young artist knocked the obsolete tea cup off the table in a fit of impulsive fury, sending it crashing against the wall. He could not stand imperfection. Imperfection was not tolerable. He was Deidara - he was perfection, his art was perfection. His work was worshipped and esteemed by all of Iwagakure. He was the pinnacle of brilliance, the epitome of artistic genius. And his every single creation was a reflection of that.

So how, **how** could his most accomplished piece have a flaw?

Deidara dug his nails into his knees, scowling at the floor. This was unacceptable. Unallowable. Unforgivable.

Cursing at himself for his perceived failure, the blonde leapt from the ground and strode over to the clay woman, fixing a burning glare at her nonchalant features. Blue met grey in what seemed like a moment of unexpected insight as the artist backed away, feeling something unexplainable.

The woman before him was the embodiment of beauty and grace. He found that the longer he stared at her, the more he could not bear to look away. And yet the nagging sensation of something missing plagued the back of his consciousness, eating away at his sanity…

Deidara turned around, not wanting to face those eyes, to feel this…unfathomable void he was being pulled into. No.

''Damn it all to hell…'' He muttered angrily and marched off, away from this looming disaster.

* * *

Deidara stood panting, his golden hair slightly dishevelled, beads of sweat collecting at his forehead. It was no longer raining outside.

The room was surrounded by dozens of clay statues, all of them resembling the same beautiful woman with the graceful features, the same serene grey eyes.

He had been trying for days. He had been trying to recreate this woman, to replicate the flaw so he could better understand it. But he couldn't.

He couldn't do it.

All these copies - they were nothing like her. Nothing at all. They all felt the same, they felt complete. Finished. Perfect.

Useless.

Deidara punched the wall in rage, glowering at the forest of lifeless clay before him. What was wrong with him? Why couldn't he make a simple imitation? He was the greatest artist in the world, and he couldn't make even perform his own reproduction? These cheap fakes were all worthless compared to the original. To _her_.

He could never make another _her. _

Never again.

He dropped on his knees and looked up at the woman he could not expel from his restless mind.

''Stop staring at me!'' He cried at her, knowing her eyes were blind, her ears were death…He wanted…maybe he wanted…

''Why won't you live, hmm?'' He spoke to her, a hint of desperation in his voice. He wanted her to be real. He had already detonated all the other clones. He didn't need them. He didn't want them. Their explosions gave him no pleasure. Their fleeting beauty gave him no joy.

But _her_…she was unlike all others. All the creations he had ever made were born to be destroyed so their true beauty could be savoured and appreciated in that one moment of explosion, culminating all his efforts and skill. Destruction was an intrinsic part of creation. But _her_ beauty grew with each minute he regarded her. He did not want to see her gone. He wanted…her to be complete.

But she would never be complete.

The lifeless eyes would never see him. The muted lips would never speak to him. She would always, always be only a work of art to be enjoyed. And nothing more.

* * *

Deidara sat against the fractured wall, his face blank.

He had not slept or ate for days now.

His projects were abandoned. His contract missions rejected.

He was a man who had lost direction. The only thing he knew how to do anymore was admire his last and greatest work – the clay woman with the grey eyes.

He had failed to complete his creation. He failed to do the impossible – he could not bring her to life. And for that flaw, and for that failure, he could no longer call himself a true artist.

No punishment could be enough to atone for this failure. He refused to produce another work of art until he could fix the flaw. The shame and humiliation was enough…

But suddenly, Deidara rose from the ground.

Suddenly, he knew. He realised. He finally figured out the way to finish his work, to make his creation complete.

He stood gazing at the clay figure, a smile playing on his lips.

He knew the secret. He knew how to bring her to life. He was going to make her live at last.

Deidara lifted his hand.

''Katsu''

He did not hear the sound.

He did not feel the floor ripple and shake with force.

But in that one instant, in that one brief moment of the explosion…

He felt her breathe.

* * *


End file.
